‘Are you all right, dear?’

I turn to see an elderly lady sitting next to me.

‘You look upset,’ she says, leaning closer. ‘Would you like a handkerchief?’

I shake my head and stare straight ahead at the altar. I can’t let her see my face.

‘What’s your name, love?’ she whispers. ‘I could have sworn I’d seen your face before.’

I go to speak but my mouth is dry. Instead I shake my head. I have to get out of here. Now. But if I make a fuss the woman will get suspicious so I stay where I am. The rest of the carols go by in a blur and as the final note plays I slip out of the pew and head outside into the fresh air.

It’s quiet in the churchyard and I stand for a moment practising the breathing exercises they taught me at the counselling sessions. After a few minutes, the tightness in my chest begins to subside.

‘There you are.’

I turn and see Isobel heading towards me. She’s holding a plastic cup in her hands, steam rising from it.

‘I was just getting some air,’ I tell her as she approaches. ‘Where’s Joe?’

‘He’s with the other kids at the party,’ she says. ‘Father Christmas has just arrived and they’re all going nuts.’

I don’t like the idea of Joe being left alone with strangers. If I keep my head down I can go and get him out quickly.

‘We need to be heading home now,’ I say to Isobel. ‘Where is the entrance to the hall?’

‘It’s just an annexe off the church,’ says Isobel. ‘But don’t rush off. Stay for a bit. Joe’s having such a nice time.’

‘Well, maybe for another half-hour,’ I say, following Isobel back into the church.

The hall rings out with the sound of children’s laughter. The party is in full swing and a large Father Christmas is making his way round the room with a red sack of toys. Under different circumstances it would be perfect, but I can’t relax. I scan the room to see if the old woman from my pew is here but thankfully there’s no sign of her. I smile at Joe, who is sitting on the floor surrounded by wrapping paper and balloons. A little girl cuddles into him and shows him the toy train Father Christmas has given her.

‘He must be missing his friends,’ says Isobel, taking a sip from her cup of mulled wine. ‘From nursery? He is at nursery, isn’t he?’

I nod my head, uncomfortable with the sudden probing. I’ll give Joe five more minutes and then we really need to go.

‘Is it a good nursery?’ she continues. ‘I know that city ones can be a bit … overcrowded.’

Her voice is loud and I’m aware that people overhearing who have read the paper might put two and two together. I need to get her away from the subject of Joe and London, so I ask the first thing that comes into my head.